


Bound and Determined

by Skrae



Category: The Losers (2010), The Losers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:42:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8228758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skrae/pseuds/Skrae
Summary: Jensen was a submissive in the U.S. Spec Ops, whose last chance before getting bounced is the Losers. The rest of the gang has varying orientations, and he is supposed to serve as a team anchor through his submissive-ness. In true Jensen style though, this takes far stranger paths than what the high ups had planned.
First posted fic, ever.





	1. The Losers Plus One

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta-ed, please don't murder me for spotty updates. 
> 
> If you would like to beta, PLEASE contact me. I'd love another set of eyes.

Corporal Jake Jensen was in so far over his head that it wasn't even remotely funny anymore. Well, maybe if you squinted, like his new teammates were. He'd been babbling nonstop for a half hour already, and their only reaction as a whole seemed to be confusion. It was 15 minutes longer than his last team had tolerated him already, and no one was pointing a weapon his way. Yet. Roque had stalked off about ten minutes ago to go throw knives at a tree, by the sound of it. Jensen wanted badly to deploy his baby-drones, but they were supposed to be a secret. A very pretty secret. The DoD nerds had a huge hardon for them, but still hadn't figured out where they had come from. That's what happened when the best techie in the service was a sub. Poor Doms didn't know what to do. He smirked just a bit more, making a couple of his new teammates a bit uneasy. They could tell that expression was trouble without even knowing him. His old teams had all learned to watch their asses as soon as Jensen even twitched his lips. He was devious on a good day, and on a bad, he could ruin your career without leaving a trace. 

It really wasn't his fault that the higher ups seemed determined to integrate all their SpecOps teams; submissives hadn't even been allowed in the military ten years ago, and now they were being touted as anchors for the Dominant heavy teams that they were attached to. Jensen was a bit of a special case in that, though. If you hadn't hacked into his file, his orientation was impossible to find out. His attitude and build screamed Dom; his shoulders being strong and wide, his habit of staring into everyone's eyes, and his stubborn refusal to back down from anyone or anything. It was mostly his attitude that had gotten him transferred to the Losers in the first place. No team wanted an anchor as difficult and "unbondable" as he. They were your next-to-last stop before discharge. Their team was listed as being almost all Dominant, but when Jensen had seen them, he had doubted that to the moon and back. Hell, he wasn't even able to tell which was Clay, at first. Checking his file on the team through his super-special spy glasses cleared that right up. Better double-check orientations too. Some Doms had tried to strangle him when he accidentally called them subs. Well, accidentally on purpose, but no one can prove it! Despite seeing their files, they all seemed too relaxed, and there weren't any immediate hierarchical signs, or eternal pissing matches. That had unnerved him even more, kicking his babble into hyperdrive. Heh. Hopefully at least one of them would get his occasional joke. It sucked being the weird techie on the team. It had never stopped sucking, actually. Ten years of side glances, discounted opinions and info, and numerous additions to his file, which was just about large enough to walk on its own.

Jensen squared up his shoulders and walked over to the new batch of teammates he would have to learn. Of the five in the clearing between aircraft bays, there was only one female. Great. Mixed gender team and mixed orientation? This was so not a good idea. Couldn't HQ have learned by now that he didn't work well with ANY team, regardless of makeup? Fuck, the last team had issued an ultimatum of his life, or him staying on their team. He didn't notice that he had stopped and was staring and thinking out loud, causing a few brows to raise and frowns to appear. 

Lt. Col. Clay finally walked up to Jensen and shook his head. "Son, you've got a condition. If we didn't need a tech so goddamn badly, you'd be shipping out of here right now. As it is, put a sock in it, and meet your team." Jensen stood a little straighter at that. Looked like nothing would be different here, and he fully expected to get bounced as soon as their first mission was over. Clay pointed over to Roque, still targeting the tree with his knives. "That's Captain William Roque. Do not call him Bill, or William, or anything but Cpt. Roque, or Roque. He's perforated too many cherries and FNGs for you to be allowed out of our collective sight." Jensen tried not to snicker at Clay's wording. Roque rolled his eyes at this, hefted a machete, and threw it at the battered tree trunk, sinking the blade a good 3 inches in, next to a cluster of smaller knives. Jensen gulped a little. Right, laughter was a bad idea. No pissing off the batshit hand-to-hand specialist. Got it. He started listing machete facts as Roque narrowed his eyes. Maybe if he pacified the crazy, he wouldn't murder him in his sleep?

Roque grunted, and went back to ignoring the cherry. Or was it Fucking New Guy? He decided to find out before the next op. The difference could save or kill one of the team, he knew from past experience. Clay shooed Jensen along to the next Loser; Pooch. "This is Sargent Linwood Porteous. Call him Sargent or Pooch." Pooch nodded, sun shining off of his shaved head, as he stuck out a hand for Jensen to shake. "Good to meet ya. If it's got a motor and can be used for transport, I can drive it, fix it or make it better. I also cover heavy weaponry." Jensen grinned, "Wonderful. How do you feel about autobots? I think a tank would be best for the team. How often do you run in waterlogged countries?" Clay practically dragged his new tech away, as he saw unholy glee light up in Pooch's face, and heard the content of their budding conversation. Jolene was going to kill him if he let those two partner up. And Clay was flat terrified of angry Jolene. Jo and Pooch were a pair of oddities in their world. He wondered how long it would take Jensen to realize that they were switches, and so didn't usually have a set orientation. That might be an issue. Most Doms didn't handle switches well. Wait, he never had checked FNG's paperwork. Christ. Yet another paperwork item. Clay sighed heavily. One of these days he was going to end up allergic to paper from over-exposure. Usually Roque reminded him, but the crazy bastard was still pissed over the addition of Aisha, one of the strongest Dommes the team had ever encountered. 

Speak of the devil in black and lo she appeared. Clay cringed mentally. There was no way this would go well in any universe. He had actually been more worried about Aisha, than about Jensen, despite his writeups. At least his were predictable! Aisha had a tendency to do whatever she wanted, when she wanted and have it miraculously work out. She always did solo missions, never partnering up with anyone on the team. Maybe he could pawn the FNG on her and see if she killed him or if they worked together. He still wasn't sure how she and Roque hadn't murdered each other yet, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it might have something to do with his being a switch.

Aisha raised an eyebrow as Clay towed the new boy over. Huh. Sub. That was interesting. None of the others had clocked him yet; she could tell. He was appealing, but oh-so-prickly. Aisha's hands itched to bring him to heel. She breathed deeply once, and settled her impulses back into a box in her head where they belonged. "Hello Corporal. What are you here for?" She asked, smirking wickedly. His eyes widened and she could tell that she had caught him off guard, as was her trademark for the group. There was no way in any of the hells of her people that she wasn't going to thoroughly vet any new additions to the team. Clay was good at interpersonal skills for the team, but she refused to allow his desire for advancement to mean that they took any random fuck-up.

Clay gulped, nervous that he was about to witness exactly what Jensen had been written up for, many times in the past. There was no way Aisha and he would- what. What the everloving fuck? Aisha had nodded and smiled, and Jensen had just grinned, shrugged, and spread his hands. "Little bit of trouble here and there, ma'am. Been hearing that you all would be a better fit then my prior postings, so I thought I'd give it a whirl." Aisha rolled her eyes. "Don't cause us trouble. That's what an enemy is for, clear?" "Crystal, ma'am." She inclined her head gracefully, then handed him a small, rolled up bag. "Make yourself useful. Polish and sharpen, then if you need busywork, come find me." Jensen grinned as widely as he could. Might be that the Losers wouldn't murder him in his sleep after all. Well, Mz. Aisha wouldn't at least. As much as it rankled him, even internally, he couldn't address her with less than respect. She was so obviously a highly ranked Domme that he was amazed the team worked.

He quickly stowed the bag in a pocket, half-bowed to her, and backed away. He sure as hell wasn't turning his back to her yet. She was probably the most deadly of the Losers, and getting on her bad side was the last thing he'd need. He side-eyed his new commander. Yup, Clay was still doing an impression of a hungry koi; mouth gaping, then closing over and over. Jensen wasn't stupid, just difficult and tetchy, if he did say so himself. He tapped his thumb against his fingers, counting off the team he had met. One to go. It was the sniper, Alvarez. He was the person Jake was most worried about meeting. Snipers were an odd bunch already, but Alvarez was almost a legend. Jensen hadn't been completely sure that he was an actual human being until this posting. He still had some money on android. C'mon, some of those shots were impossible for a human being. Especially the one in Laos. That Jensen didn't know about. Not at all. He just...happened to stumble across the information while chasing an asshat down through some server farm that wasn't supposed to exist.

Lt. Col. Clay was mildly concerned now. Roque was looking for a reason to stab the new tech, Pooch was declaring his loyalty to a team "Linsen", and Aisha looked like the cat who drained the whole damn gallon of cream for some inscrutable reason. He had no idea how Cougar would react to the giant blonde noisemaker, but he was sure that something ill would come of their meeting. He rubbed his hand over his face, calluses scratching against 5 day scruff. He knew they likely only had a few days' break before their next mission, and he had to figure out how to get Jensen to fit in. And not die; too much paperwork. Steeling himself, he gestured for their new Captain to fall in, and marched off towards the trees that Cougar was probably napping in. As if he needed to act more like his namesake. 

Cougar was indeed perched in a nearby tree, but he was not napping. Madre de Dios, Clay, sleeping with an unknown to meet? Ay. He rolled his eyes under the brim of his straw cowboy hat. The new cabron probably didn't speak any language other than computer and some English. Cougar was a bit tired of carrying a large part of the linguistic burden when they left the country on a mission. He could blend into most countries and speak several languages fluently. There were benefits to being an observer. Like noticing Clay striding determinedly towards him. There was nothing comforting about their CO's determined face; it usually heralded unwanted changes. Aisha had been one of those once, though her rougher edges had smoothed some. 

Corporal Jensen reached Alvarez' tree, and followed the trunk up, shading his eyes against the harsh sun. Crazy ass snipers and their goddamn high ground. He liked feet on dirt, himself. Was that....sure enough, the sniper had himself a nest up their. Jensen wished even more that he could send a drone up to introduce himself; he was sure that meeting would go far more smoothly than anything else his mouth or brain would come up with on their own. Next to him, Clay was shuffling unconsciously, barking "Alvarez, get down here and meet the new tech"! Jensen tilted his head a bit as the CO backed away slowly from some unseen signal from the perched sniper. 

Cougar landed right in front of Clay, having apparently leapt from his perch, just like his namesake. Jensen barely managed not to gape as the very Dominant sniper raised his head just far enough to peek out under the brim of his cowboy hat. Or was that vaquero hat, he wondered to himself. While trying not to drool or kneel. Damn snipers. His clear blue eyes met the snipers' warm brown eyes, and for a moment, the rest of Jensen's world fuzzed out. Obviously Alvarez' didn't, as his raised eyebrow and quick side-eye to Clay demonstrated. Clay shrugged. "The last one was shit. This one has a damn thick file full of nothing important. He'll at least cover all our asses out there". Alvarez tilted his hat, seemingly weighing this information, then spoke in a low, sweet voice. "He's the last bet, si? He leaves the crazy sniper alone, like he's heard." At that Jensen made a slight squawk. "Whoa there partner," Clay just rubbed his stubble with his hand, sighing loudly and starting to back away. "I may be a pain in the ass, but unless your team fucks me over, I will have their backs. I'm damn good at being tech, and you can bank on that, Sargent Carlos "Cougar" Alvarez. I saw Laos."

Cougar's face might as well have been carved from stone, as still as he froze. "That never happened, gringo. Never." Clay was already dragging Jensen away from their sniper, trying to avoid any further conversation between the two. "Dammit corporal, what did you think he would say? How the everloving fuck do you even know about that?!?" Jensen twisted his wrist out of Clay's grasp. "Same way I know not to trust your choice in bed partners, sir. Your tendency towards the unhinged and murderous is almost a talent. Sir."

Clay glared at his new cherry. "You best take the sass down several notches there, corporal. We may be the Losers, but we're your last hope, and if you can't cut it with us, you WILL be on the first flight home that I can arrange. Now go grab a hammock, and don't piss anyone else off until at least tomorrow. GodDAMN son. Don't you know better?" Jensen half shrugged, already headed for the hammock furthest from the rest of the team. "Sir, once I start talking, it doesn't matter what I say. Someone's always gonna be pissed. With all due respect, I would rather be appraised of how the individuals on your team handle change and attitude than find out in the middle of a firefight when I have to save their asses. Sir." He saluted and continued walking, then started to settle in for the night.


	2. Pop tarts and Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jensen's first morning as a Loser. I'm really bad at summaries....

Jensen awoke to the most humid morning he remembered in years. South America was beautiful, but dear electric gods it was humid as hell out! He double-checked his feet; yup, shoes off. Should be safe. Swinging out of the hammock whistling, he started opening up his preciouses. Well, mostly just Ermengarde, his lovely, lovely laptop of the mission. She was perfectly dry. Every penny of that particular requisition had so been worth it. Even the bitching out that his last staff sarge had given him. Poor Laertes hadn't been able to figure out how Jensen had gotten divvy equipment approved and sent to the middle of the desert without a hitch. Especially when Laertes had signed off on forms he didn't remember signing off on. Granted, his memory wasn't perfected, and Jensen always covered his ass. Especially after that blazing asshole had found out that Jensen was a submissive. He still wasn't entirely sure who had the skills to hack that particular file, and that did scare him. He inhaled, and slowly exhaled. The hell that had led to his current posting wasn't worth thinking about and sending himself into drop. 

He'd seen an Army Dom right before he'd shipped to the middle of nowhere Venezuela. He still wasn't comfortable with that all, but it beat the shit out of trying to bond with part of his team, even if that was why he'd gotten handed off to the Losers. Clay tended to form partial-bonds with his batshit girlfriends. That was documented. His being a switch, however, was not. Pooch was also a switch; interesting because finding more than one on the same team, let alone same squad was rare. Then again, Clay was in denial, and Pooch was incredibly valuable. His bond was to his wife, who had a reputation as being scary as shit, even for a civvy nurse. They had one of the strongest documented bonds, and could feel each other, even miles away. Jensen wasn't going to lie to himself; everyone else, maybe. He was more than a little jealous of what Pooch and Jolene had. Even as a kid, he'd never dared to dream that he might be that lucky. His parents sure as shit hadn't made that seem possible at all. 

He straightened up his shoulders, raised his chin, and did what he did best. He hacked the shit out of every network he ran across to find out what missions were coming down the lane for the Losers. Looked like mostly recon, except for an extremely sketchy elimination. Like word choice changed assassination. He'd have to figure out a way to approach poor Lt. Col. Clay about wetwork. He needed to know ASAP if that was encouraged. If so, he might as well start arranging his trip home anyhow. He hadn't had much of a problem with it until his squad was assigned to murder a pair of submissive twin kids. Their dad was a prick of a dictator, but the kids were sheltered. And five. He'd managed to get them kidnapped instead, and had barely managed to get them into safe hands before he'd been bounced from that squad. The twins still emailed him from their American adoptive home regularly. Semah and Fatima were happier by far now. Sometimes he felt bad for arranging their kidnapping and being their savior, but he'd saved them. They were old enough that they had just started studying submissive history at school, and learned what some countries required. 

Hearing soft footsteps to his left, he drew his favorite MEU pistol (he called her Mew Mew), and tilted the loaded barrel in that direction as subtly as he could. He only relaxed his body when his ever-helpful glasses identified the presence of Pooch. "Hey, techie, food's up in- JESUS SHIT BOY. The hell happened that you aim at team, man?" That got the mechanic a raised eyebrow. "Shit happens, we adapt." Jensen made a show of setting the safety and hiding Mew Mew in a different spot. No use giving up all his secrets yet. "Food? Yes please! Who cooked? Roque?" Pooch snorted. Hard. "You wanna die of food poisoning? Nah, Clay usually cooks for us all. Unless Aisha does. That woman is heavy on spice though. Good thing I love some chili." Jensen nodded. Made sense with what he'd observed of her. He packed up Ermengarde, adjusted the three knives he rarely removed, and followed Pooch and the smell of tasty tasty MREs. 

Jensen was pleasantly surprised to see that the team ate together. Granted, patches of dirt and rocks weren't the fanciest furniture, but it spoke well to their morale and teamwork overall. He was mostly used to grabbing leftovers and eating as far from his teams as he could by now. Gave him more warning when they decided to pull some shit. He accepted his breakfast packet from Clay, nodding as he dissembled his food. Jackpot! Chocolate pop tart AND blackberry jam! Unknowingly, he wiggled his butt in joy, drawing amused expressions from the rest of his team. "You guys love me! This is the BEST ONE. Did you know that pop tarts are part of a complete military breakfast? They didn't actually have frosting until 1967, though. Wasted food years, seriously. And they ran out when they first ran in '64. Two weeks after launch." As Jensen leaned down to see what else was in the MRE, a small knife landed next to his knee. Ah. Right. Roque didn't like talking much. "Aaaand shutting up now." He leaned towards Mz. Aisha at his right, though, and handed her the small bag, except unrolled, so that she could see what he had done. And the tiny vials that he had added. "My thanks, Jacob." Ah, someone had read his file, at least a little. "What are these? They are so very tiny." "Well, ma'am, they're various poisons. You might not want to open the red ones in small spaces, unless you've got a mask to cover yourself with. The blue are all neurotoxins, and the green are antidotes. If those work well, let me know, and I can get us shipped more, or a better variety." She looked at him sharply, raised an eyebrow, then handed him a larger bag. Granted it still fit in one of his big mitts. It was almost delicate looking, heavily embroidered, and with a golden drawstring. "This is the non-essential intelligence that I have gathered over the past six missions. I would like a detailed analysis and report at your earliest convenience when our next mission is complete. Am I understood, Jacob?" "Crystal-clear, ma'am." With that exchange having left the rest of the team, even the surly sniper, whom Jensen was pointedly ignoring, even though the man was fucking gorgeous, completely speechless; breakfast was finished in record time, and disposed of properly, leaving no traces. 

Clay, slightly jealous of new guy's apparently Aisha-pleasing skill, barked at the team to pack up and be ready to roll out by 0800. They had just gotten their first assignment with their new teammate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to post a chapter a week, depending on life. So, if you haven't seen anything new for a while, poke at the writer!


	3. Why tech support is a new language- Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consider me poked and chagrined. Y'all don't want to know how long this chapter has been languishing. Fully complete, too. 
> 
> It ends kind of on a cliffhanger; sorry! Natural breaks happen.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, and comments resurrect me.

Three weeks later, 0900- Somewhere lonely, Venezuela.

Jensen sighed heavily. Roque had ordered radio silence from him during mission-time, and he'd been reliably informed by Pooch that comm chatter would earn him some interesting new scars. He wasn't in a hurry to test that, this time around. Granted, it was a fairly routine recon mission on a drug cartel, the Muertitos. Little deaths. Ironic name really, especially given that the French called orgasms 'little deaths'. Regardless of their appellation, the influence they held was enough that a few US senators and other politicians were on their payroll. Jensen thought that taking cartel money was stupider than many other choices that they could make. Never mind the scandal of the week; he desperately hoped that these assholes burned in a fiery pit populated by dial-up internet and rotary phones. 

His job was to provide details and surveillance of the unfolding op. Cougar was perched somewhere, Mz. Aisha had disappeared towards the main compound, and Pooch was waiting in a jeep-like thing (he didn't really care as long as it ran). Clay was following Mz. Aisha at slower intervals, to try to avoid detection. Jensen had a mirror of the enemy's security setup projecting on Ermengarde, and he was actively looping any cameras that had detected Mz. Aisha or Clay. The infrared that the Muertitos's had running was an obsolete piece of shit that he could have countered in elementary school. And had, but that was another story. Roque was lurking somewhere out in the jungle, waiting to "interrogate one of those bloody little bastards", in his inimitable accent. 

"Sir, watch your 3 o'clock. There's a patrol starting out of the lower level of the compound. They have no idea that you're there, but please don't tell them. Although if you did, it might help you with that distinguished salt and pepper look you're going for. You've got a bit too much pepper for that, still."  
"Jensen, I say this with the fondest of regards; shut the fuuuuuck up." Well, that was rude. He was just trying to give the Colonel some help in his sartorial regard. He harrumphed over comms. "No one appreciates your sass, Colonel." He got a dry chuckle in response, which was the best response he'd gotten so far. Going back to his screens, he noticed a pack of Muertitos climbing up to where Alvarez was stationed. "Loco, goons are coming your way. Hate to tell you what to do, but you might wanna haul ass. They look like they're on walkies too, so I can't really stop their comms." A resounding sigh echoed through his mic. "Ay, cabron, can you not do your job? I'm heading for transport. Sight you later." 

The tech shook his head. Looks like their sniper had as much attitude as the rest of the team, after all. This might work out. Jensen tended to respect those who snipped back. There was a reason that he didn't match his typical orientation profile. Whoever thought that subs should always be shy, retiring delicate flowers needed to be dropped on their heads. Not that the general public really disagreed. Opening up his special case o'goodies, he gently removed his baby drones. Little sweethearts were even weaponized. Perfect to keep an eye on their sniper. Tapping in a few commands and routines, he took a moment to watch them soar. They were beautiful. Then he heard the barked Spanish coming from near Mz. Aisha. "Do you copy?" "Ma'am." She must really be focused to be replying in what must be her native Arabic. "Please remove yourself asap. Looks like they're suspicious motherfuckers. Did you get what you needed?" "...Na'am. Remove yourself as well, Corporal." "Roger that, ma'am. Watch out for those lil' walking corpses. Man, always wanted to say that! It's their own fault for having such a silly gang name." He heard a soft snort in his ear that had to be Pooch, making him grin like a loon.

Running a few more subroutines, he downloaded what Mz. Aisha had gotten, and started erasing her trails. As quickly as he could, he checked on the rest of his new team. Looks like the Muertitos had decided it was time for their morning walkies. Just like all the dogs Jensen had walked as a kid. He threw his kit together, and strapped it on his back, then picked up and armed his rifle, very rapidly checking the sights. Time to go play herd the cats. His glasses registered that his drones were flanking and targeting the cartel strays that were sniffing after Alvarez. Damn, his dog metaphors were on fire today. Too bad no one else would probably appreciate his internal monologue nearly as much. Continuing his multitasking, he ran after Mz. Aisha and Clay, knowing that Pooch was probably safer than his other teammates. And he'd be goddamned to no tech hell if he didn't take care of them. Even frickin' Roque. Who he'd somehow lost track of in the dense undergrowth. That wouldn't do at all. 

Of course, Jensen's luck turned sour almost immediately. He walked right into a posse of the Muertitos. Their expressions at seeing the 6 ft. plus gringo in the middle of their compound were priceless. "Hola, compadres! ¿Dónde esta el baño?" he smiled, then shots rang out. Apparently someone was close enough to help, as the cartel mooks fell down. Headshots, and hello, that was a pretty little knife; hey, Roque! "Thanks Cap! Let's go herd cats!" A grunt came from behind him; he turned, and sure enough, there was the surliest of his new people. Oh hell. He was already thinking of them as his on the second day. Maybe the asshats in charge had something to the anchor thing. Oh double hell. He followed Roque to Clay and Mz. Aisha, who had managed to avoid their batch of goons, who were now sprinting towards their fallen comrades. The four Losers started sprinting towards Pooch and Cougar. "Pooch, fire the engines up, we gotta boogie!" hollered Clay into his comm. Jensen barely stifled a giggle. They were almost to the treeline when they heard a copter's thudding.


End file.
